


Amidst General Happiness, A Recollection of Pain

by Barkour



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Future Fic, Horrorterrors - Freeform, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Furthest Ring, the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors sleeps undying; and we must all of us slay our own demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amidst General Happiness, A Recollection of Pain

The mail arrived shortly after ten. Kanaya heard the truck puttering down the lane before it rounded the corner; she rose from the garden to greet it. She tugged her thick leather gloves off, and the heavy fragrance of soft, tilled earth spilled from her hands.

The mailman smiled at her as he leaned out the truck.

"Not much today."

"As long as it isn't all bills," she said.

"Can't be held responsible for that." He paused then and tipped his head forward, peering at her face beneath the fat, floppy brim of her hat. "You look a bit pale."

"I had the flu recently," she said with practiced ease. She smiled. "But Rose tells me I'm glowing, so I must be doing better."

Already his curiosity faded. He slipped back into his seat. The upholstery groaned, and a crack on the side widened to show the cheap yellow foam packed into the casing.

"Tell Miss Lalonde I said hi."

She waved politely. Kanaya stood there at the gate, her hand resting upon the latch. The truck spat up gravel as it vanished around the next turn. When it passed, even the choking backfire gone, the only sounds which remained were the small crickets singing in the grass at her feet and the cry of a bird somewhere in the trees. The breeze was cool, the air thick with coming rain. A smattering of dark clouds showed between the treetops. She'd have to cover the newly seeded ground before the clouds broke.

Kanaya tucked her gloves into her apron pocket and set off for the house.

*

Rose was in the library, as she was every morning from eight to eleven and again in the evening from six to eight, set before her computer as she worked at the latest manuscript. She'd a pen set behind her ear and another between her teeth, and her fingers worked madly over the keys.

Kanaya lingered at the door. Sunlight parsed through the windows had caught in Rose's hair, casting an illusion of gold over the white. She'd a spot of ink at the corner of her mouth where the pen had pressed to her lip.

"In or out, Miss Maryam," Rose said through her teeth. "I have no use for dilly dallying."

"The mail's come," Kanaya said. "Most of it's garbage, but you have a letter. It's very thick." She fingered the envelope. The paper was rich, a creamy, crisp thing which very nearly justified the stubborn human affection for such inefficient methods of communication. "Why do you still use paper?"

Rose rolled the pen to one corner, freeing her lips. "The aesthetic principle of ink on paper should never be forgotten. Also I suppose we're all just fleshy barbarians, chained to the grinding wheel of the printing press. Who's it from?"

She turned it over. "It's marked from Crystal Mack and Daniel Harrup. Wasn't Crystal your roommate?"

"Sophomore and junior years. She read Dan Brown."

Rose banged furiously at the keys then relinquished her burden. Kanaya handed her the letter. With a flick of her wrist, Rose gutted the envelope; it spilled a card into her lap. The front was gravely embossed. Kanaya read, _cordially invited_ , then Rose turned it rightside up. She made a little scornful noise high in her nose.

"She's getting married, and she would very much like it if I were to come." She said this in a mocking sort of voice, the vowels dragged off her tongue like overly ardent critics from a book signing. Rose read the card again, then she folded it shut and set it aside.

Kanaya doffed her hat. A bit of soil showered off the brim to the gleaming cherry wood floor where it stood out like spots on a dalmation. Carefully, she ran her fingers through her hair. Something crawled on her thumb: a ladybug. Kanaya blew it free.

She looked to Rose, who sat still in her chair, staring out the window at something only she could see. Her eyes did not waver. A tension had come into her face.

Kanaya said, "Would you like to go? You were friends with her once. It would be nice to see her again, wouldn't it? It could be fun."

Rose blinked. The delicate lines drawn across her face eased, and she turned in her chair to face Kanaya.

"Well," she said, nearly sounding herself, "the wedding isn't for a month. I don't have to RVSP for another week. I'll have to think about how much I want to spend a day with people I don't know celebrating something I don't care about."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fun," Kanaya said brightly. "I'll make you a new dress, and you can make sarcastic remarks to all the guests. Later you can write a book about it."

"I don't know," Rose said. "It won't be much fun if no one's there to appreciate my devastating wit."

Kanaya set her hat back upon her head. "Then I'll just have to go with you."

"What is it Jade likes to say?" Rose wondered. "'Uggggggggh'?"

"I think that might be it," Kanaya said. "If you need me to practice cutting repartee, I'll be in the garden, cutting."

"Ugggggh," said Rose.

*

The clouds broke late in the evening. Rain tapped then snapped against the windows, shaking them in their casings, and thunder snarled in fits before giving way to simply rain, rain that beat upon the roof, rain that drove to drown the world. In the earliest hours of the next morning the rain grew sporadic; when Kanaya woke to Rose screaming, it had stopped entirely.

"Nahalothip obngoh fthnig ni ni--"

Kanaya struggled with the sheets. She'd curled in them again and trapped herself, her arms stuck to her sides. Rose, bare, arched her back and screamed at the ceiling, her eyes open and unseeing, her face dull and dreaming.

"Ia, ia, Yun-Drinn fhtagn, mulughna o'bhnng, ia, ia, Mnugyathet fhtagn--"

Softly Rose began to weep. Where the tears touched her skin, steam rose, and the acrid scent of burning flesh rose with it.

Kanaya turned her arms and tore the sheets, ripped them from her shoulders, her sides. She threw herself upon Rose and bore her down again to the mattress. Still, Rose sobbed, her eyes vacant, her jaw distended, her tongue rolling against her teeth.

"--cthyka duyr wtsll mi agim, ia, ia, mligh--"

Rose's breath was hot and wet, and it clung to Kanaya's skin like oil, like water thick with moldering flesh. Kanaya covered Rose's eyes with her shining hands; the wetness on Rose's cheeks seared her palms. She pressed her lips to Rose's ear and said,

"Rose. Wake up. You must wake up _right now_ , Rose."

Rose screamed, "Bnigragn fwathr Golot-Dom!" and pressed up against Kanaya as to throw her off.

Kanaya, so much heavier, so much stronger, remained. She dug her nails into Rose's brow, her thumbs to Rose's nose. A blood like ichor began to leak from Rose's skin, black against Kanaya's fingers.

"You are dreaming," she shouted into Rose's ear. "Rose Lalonde, you are dreaming, and it is time for you to wake up."

Rose shivered beneath her. Her hands turned uselessly against the coverlet, and she shuddered again, her breasts rising and falling as she dragged in a breath that whistled in her throat.

"Lalonde fhtagn," Rose whispered to Kanaya's wrists. "Lalonde fhtagn. Fhtagn. Kanaya."

"Yes," Kanaya said. She licked a drop of blood as it slipped down Rose's cheek. It tasted of oil, as her breath smelt of it. "I'm Kanaya Maryam, and you are Rose Lalonde. This is our room, which we share, in our house."

Rose turned her hands over and slowly, delicately, she set them on Kanaya's shoulders. "Kanaya Maryam," she said. "The Sylph of Space. 9052 Jasmijn Lane, Marshall, Connecticut." The words fell strangely from her tongue, queerly rounded and rough.

"I'm sorry," Kanaya said. She stroked Rose's brow, petting the tiny crescent gashes she'd cut into her skin. The ichor smeared. Beneath it, red blood welled. "I've cut you."

The hands on her shoulders slipped down to cup her elbows, then her forearms, then her wrists. Rose took a rattling breath and let it out. Her lips brushed the heel of Kanaya's palm.

"I believe," she whispered, "that I will hold this against you forever."

Kanaya kissed Rose's ear, that beloved little lobe which stood out from her head. She made to move her hands. Rose tightened her grip on Kanaya's wrists.

"Please." Her voice rasped. "Allow me this moment of weakness."

Without taking her hands away, Kanaya turned and settled along Rose's side. Rose turned with her, so their legs tangled and Kanaya's shoulder pushed into Rose's chest. Rose's legs were naked and slick with sweat, a cold sweat that stuck to Kanaya's skin. The tip of Rose's nose showed between Kanaya's hands, and Kanaya bent to kiss it.

Rose exhaled again, and she turned her head just so to press her lips to Kanaya's wrist.

"How embarrassing."

"Not really," Kanaya said. "I've seen you naked before, once or twice."

When she made to sweep her hand through Rose's hair, Rose permitted her. Rose's eyes were closed, her face slack in the way of exhaustion. A fierce and painful tenderness opened in Kanaya's gut.

She said, "Would you like me to fix you something to drink?"

Rose opened her eyes; after a moment, she focused on Kanaya.

"No," she said. "That won't be necessary."

Kanaya traced Rose's cheek, the line of bone, the soft jutting of her jaw. Then she cast her arm about Rose's shoulders and drew her near, near so their hips bumped and Rose's chin fit to Kanaya's throat.

"All right," Kanaya said.

*

The rain had found entrance through an unnoticed hole in the tarp; three rows of seeds had drowned or swept away. Kanaya dug viciously in the wet soil to rescue the rest. Her spade flashed like a blade, mud splashing like clotted blood. Damn. Damn, damn. She needed to check the cuttings planted in the back, too, to see if she'd have to replant the rose bushes. Mud splattered her cheek. She dropped two seeds into the cup at her side and paused to wipe the dirt from her face.

"I assume you have your work cut out for you."

Kanaya started.

Rose stood just on the cobblestone path which wound in artistic loops through the garden. Her feet were bare, her long, dark toes stark against the pale stones. She held a martini glass in her left hand, her fingers coiled artfully about the bell.

"Yes," Kanaya said. She gestured toward the patch of overturned mud. "I have to replant all the vegetables, and I still have to prune the trees, and if the rose cuttings out back drowned I'll have to see if I've enough left to plant new ones, which," she said, "I'm afraid to confess I don't. Is that orange juice?"

"Caught," said Rose with satisfaction. She made a show of turning the glass. She did so care for appearances. "Equal portions concentrated orange juice and soda water, with a liberal splash of lemon."

Kanaya frowned. "I thought I threw out all that concentrated trash."

"And I," Rose said as she picked her way through the mud to Kanaya's side, "anticipated your doing so. In my infinite cleverness I saw fit to go out and buy more. The Seer cannot be so easily routed from her course."

She crouched next to Kanaya. Mud squelched between her toes. Lightly, Kanaya touched the side of Rose's nose where the mark from her thumbnail had scabbed.

Rose sipped at her glass. The stink of thawed orange juice wafted from it. Kanaya wrinkled her nose.

"I've given the soon to be Crystal Harrup's invitation additional thought," Rose said, "and if you're willing to leave this little paradise _and_ be seen with the present company, I may consider RVSPing in the positive."

"How very definitive," Kanaya said.

"It's important to leave one's options open."

Kanaya cleaned her spade off on her apron, first one side and then the other. Beyond the trees the sky was very blue, and a flock of sparrows showed as small dancing spots against it.

"It would be pleasant," Kanaya allowed, "to go out for a while."

"And of course," Rose said, "let us say nothing of the opportunity to expand our wardrobes."

She leaned against Kanaya then; she rested her head on Kanaya's shoulder. The sweet, fizzy scent peculiar to Rose washed over Kanaya. Kanaya turned and kissed the soft spot on Rose's jaw, where it hinged at her throat.

The sun shone through the trees, and out in the woods a bird called and another called back. Rose smoothed her hand down Kanaya's thigh, her knee. A wind cutting through the garden shook the windchimes so they sang against each other, and Kanaya cradled Rose's cheek and turned her head to kiss her. Her teeth pressed to Rose's lip. The corners of Rose's mouth turned up - Kanaya felt this on her lips - and her hand on Kanaya's knee slid down then up again beneath her apron, beneath her loose skirt, to settle on skin.

"You taste like concentrate," Kanaya whispered.

"The tragedy," said Rose.

Kanaya kissed her again.

*

At night, Kanaya circled the bedroom, propping the windows open to let in the breeze. Early in the season to think the nights overwarm, but she liked the chill and Rose, curled up in bed with a Stephen King novel to read by the light of Kanaya's skin, had yet to complain. The wind, a stiff, cool breeze from the south, rustled Kanaya's nightgown, pulled the sheer material tight across her chest.

"Whatever shall you wear to the wedding, Miss Maryam?"

She stepped away from the window. Rose watched her as she crossed to the lamp. The light went out, _click_. In Kanaya's luminescence, Rose was a shadow, her eyes sickly pale and huge.

"I find myself in dire need of a new wig," said Kanaya. "Red would be best to match the dress. A pink powder for my skin, to go with the theme."

"And have you the dress?" asked Rose.

Kanaya turned the comforter down. She'd changed the sheets in the morning after Rose had descended. Picked them up, stripped them from the bed, and thrown them out. She would not keep them, not even as rags. As she'd borne the pile downstairs, she had looked into the library and watched as Rose smashed her fingers against the keyboard and then, calmly, hit the delete key again and again and again.

"Not yet," Kanaya said. "But I know what it should look like."

She folded her hands across her belly. Rose did not open her book. The wind rolled through the window screens, and after a time the room grew chill.

"Forgive me," Rose said. "I'm about to be uncharacteristically sentimental. I thought you should be prepared."

Kanaya lifted her face. Her light flittered over Rose's skin. Rose fanned her fingers out across the cover of her book; the calluses on the tips rasped. She said, "I owe you a great deal, Miss Kanaya Maryam," and it was not the same as the joke that was _Miss_ Maryam.

"You have seen me at what one might charitably call my worst and yet you've remained, and for that I cannot thank you enough. You've sacrificed much," she said, "and--"

Kanaya covered Rose's hands. Rose looked down to their hands, to Kanaya's pale and shining against her own; then she looked to Kanaya.

Once years ago, not long after they had all returned to this Earth, Rose had woken screaming in her sleep, and Kanaya had held her. In the morning after, Rose had looked away from her and said, "I think it would be best if you were to go," and Kanaya had said, "No."

Now, Kanaya said:

"I'm not leaving you." She found she was angry at the thought. Furious. Wretched with it. "I won't leave you. I told you that once before, and I'll tell you again if I have to, because it's true. Because I _won't_."

"I remember," Rose said. She slipped one of her hands out from under Kanaya's, and she set it on top of Kanaya's wrist. A dry sort of smile flickered across her mouth. "And that wasn't what I was going to say."

Kanaya tightened her hand about Rose's. Rose looked down again, to her fingers wound about Kanaya's wrist.

"What I wanted to say," she said, "was thank you. For loving me. For letting me love you."

What could Kanaya say? She said, "I love you dearly, even if you are occasionally a rude, graceless, emotionally constipated human."

"Oh, now, look," said Rose. "I've made you cry."

"Oh, shut up," said Kanaya, and she dragged Rose down into the comforter alongside her.

Rose brushed her fingertips across Kanaya's cheeks. A great fondness warmed her worn eyes.

"I told Crystal we were coming," she said to Kanaya. "So I'm afraid we're stuck. I'm sorry I keep you cooped up in this goddamned house."

"You couldn't keep me cooped up anywhere," Kanaya snapped. "If I wanted to go, I'd go. And I had dinner with Karkat and John just last week, so you can shut up about that, too."

"What!" said Rose. "Without me? Fickle girl. Never mind. I cast you out."

"You couldn't cast me out of anywhere, either," Kanaya said. "I'm afraid _you're_ stuck."

Rose kissed Kanaya gently. Kanaya closed her eyes and turned her head. Outside, the trees rustled, and the hum of crickets rose about them. The house groaned as it settled into its bones.

Rose touched her forehead to Kanaya's.

"Well," she said. "There are worse things." Then she laughed, a little - Rose, who never laughed. A brittle laugh. "I suspect there will be a great deal of screaming tonight."

"I'll be here," Kanaya said.

Rose closed her eyes. Her eyelashes painted white lines against her skin. She turned her head to rest it on Kanaya's shoulder, and her hair fell bleached against her cheek.

"I know," she said.


End file.
